


The White Dragon

by Aspirator



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gangsters, M/M, Rated For Violence, Yakuza, shifting povs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspirator/pseuds/Aspirator
Summary: A Modern-Day Albion City, with Five Districts, and a healthy helping of Yakuza conflict:There was a prophecy that was once told, passed orally from generation to generation for fear of putting ink to paper would pass it to the wrong hands. In the end, a bit of torture does the trick, and the Pendragon Clan eliminated all those who have heard it, breathed it, and at least two steps removed from knowing about it. But the brutality of the Pendragons could not quench what was not tangible - hope. Hope for the Coming of The White Dragon.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. PART ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Borne out of an artistic appreciation for the Netflix/BBC show "Giri | Haji" (highly recommend), I wanted to explore that intersection between Tokyo and London in the midst of a Yakuza conflict.  
> And, even in a Japanese backdrop, I didn't want to let go of our cast being unrepentantly British. So, here goes. Feel free to britpick me!

* * *

####  **_Arthur at age 1_**

_\+ Spring +_

"Inspector! Sir!" 

"How many," Iseldir scrubbed his face then clenched his coffee mug like a lifeline, feeling his headache worsen. "Just tell me how many and which Clan."

"All of them."

Iseldir had the presence of mind to place his coffee cup down. "What?"

"Pendragon has taken over all of Camelot's Yakuza territories."

"Fuck. Fuck! Call the Commissioner General - get him on the line - now!"

_\+ Summer +_

"Going down the list, Uther? Who's next?"

"Du Bois," Uther growled, not really joking.

Agravaine laughed, because Uther tolerated him for Ygraine's sake and he developed a false sense of security. Except Ygraine wasn't here anymore and Uther was feeling bloodthirsty. Hell, he really hated that laugh.

A perfunctory knock saved the perfectly white walls from being splattered with blood.

Uther dismissed his brother-in-law - sending Aredian a look that the man immediately understood - and called in the Yakuza employee in the same wave.

Uther appreciated Efficiency.

"Sir, I have returned from Essetir." The scout bowed low, then reported. "Balinor doesn't have an heir."

"That's what he likes everyone to think." Uther scoffed, stubbing his cigarette into the golden ash tray. 

A 'but' lingered on the employee's lips, except one doesn't say that word in the presence of the Pendragon head. After a hesitant fidget, he ventured, "Sir-"

"It doesn't matter," Uther flicked his fingers carelessly, dismissing the useless employee. He looked at his right hand man. "kill them."

A wicked grin sliced across Aredian's face.

"Anything that moves. Their family dog. Property. Destroy it all." 

"Yes, sir."

Efficiency. Uther appreciated efficiency.

####  **_Arthur at age 7_**

_\+ Autumn +_

"Gaius," Uther greeted with no love, "old friend."

Gaius said nothing but did not hide the disgust on his face.

"They tell me you will not give up Balinor's child." Uther tracked the evidence of their information gathering. A missing finger. The bruises. The scars.

"He does not have a child." Gaius responded, his voice raspy.

Uther hummed doubtfully, a plan forming in his mind, efficient and beneficial. "I will keep you close. Perhaps the Emrys heir will come for you." Uther smiled, ugly and cruel. "I know what you'll do - Arthur needs a tutor."

_\+ Winter +_

"Arthur," and the boy looked up at him with Ygraine's eyes. Uther couldn't stand looking at him, so he smiled at the wall over his son's shoulder. "This is Morgana." He gestured to his man, who pushed the little girl forward, black hair and sharp eyes. (He'll wonder, years later, if he saw that sharpness in her eyes and should've known to eliminate her.) "She is going to be living with us now. As your sister."

Arthur threw a tantrum, but Gaius ran in before Uther got properly annoyed.

####  **_Arthur at age 18_**

_\+ Spring +_

"What's this I hear about you picking up a stray?" Morgana slammed open Arthur's door, causing the silk sheets to rattle on wooden frames. After a perfectly perfunctory bow - in respect for the room, because it sure wasn't for Arthur - toe-ing off her slippers to step into the dining room without an invitation, she plopped gracefully on her knees on to the nearest cushion. A Pendragon attendant scrambled after her, bowing low with a tray in her hands, and quickly placed the soup bowl, rice bowl, still steaming cup of tea, and chopsticks down in a perfect arrangement.

Morgana was properly settled and delicately spooning soup into her mouth, the maid disappeared and the wooden doors shut silently behind her, before Arthur finished sighing. "Why don't you ask him yourself?" 

"Are you a stray?" Morgana asked, without missing a beat.

"Erm, uh," the new boy flicked his wide eyes between Morgana, Arthur, and Leon - who kept eating, unfazed - mouth torn between gaping and stammering. Arthur goggled at the new boy as if he had never seen a person stutter. "I, uh, um."

"It's alright," Morgana smirked, fluttering her eyelashes, "most people have the same reaction." 

Arthur's jaw worked, Leon hurriedly poured himself another cup of tea, and Morgana smiled smugly.

"I'm-uh-erm-Merlin." The new boy managed to choke out finally. Then, an adorable flush graced his cheeks, and he stuffed an absurd amount of rice and pork belly in his mouth in mortification.

"Merlin," she purred, just to see the flare of protectiveness coat Arthur's gaze. "I see the appeal." She took a delicate bite before asking, "have you come to kill Arthur?"

"Er, um, no?"

"Hm," Morgana leaned back, taking another bite and chewing slowly. "Well, there's time."

"I rescued him," Arthur stated because he was not a child anymore and was not being possessive about his belongings at all. 

"Really," Morgana intoned, narrowing her gaze at the boy, now happily stuffing his mouth if it gave him a chance not to have to answer. "Must have been a truly terrible situation if he agreed to become your pet."

"He was living on the streets." Leon volunteered. When Morgana raised a brow at him, Leon hurriedly poured more tea into Arthur and Morgana's cups. 

"There's a lot of people living in the streets." Morgana said, giving the boys a pitying look. "What is it about this one that you've decided to adopt? Have a thing for brunettes?"

Arthur choked. The new boy flicked his eyes between Arthur, Leon, and Morgana like he was watching a tennis match. Arthur - eventually - managed to sputter out, "Leon ran over him."

"Not really!" Leon yelped, "the car was parked!"

"And then it wasn't. We found him, he's fine, he didn't have anywhere to go, so we took him in." Cute that Arthur thinks he's concluded the conversation.

Morgana hummed thoughtfully. "And what will your pet do now that you've taken him in?"

"He's not my pet." Arthur asserted, like Morgana doesn't know him better than himself. _Please_.

Morgana turned her raised eyebrow pointedly at Arthur's chopsticks, now poised above Merlin's plate, ready to drop off another round of pork belly. Refusing to be cowed, Arthur finished the action with his chin lifted.

"He's joining the family."

"That was fast, did you impregnate him?"

"As an employee."

Morgana set down her chopsticks. "Have you asked Uther?"

"I will."

"Right." Morgana clasped her hands together in her lap. "Is that why we're having our meal in the oldest wing of the estate, in a dining room made in the, what, 15th century, on our _fucking_ knees - you did that on purpose didn't you Arthur -"

"Morgana!" Arthur hissed in outrage, whether it was for her insinuation, or for spilling the beans, or both, who knows. Arthur was easily outraged.

"-because you were in the process of bravely confronting your _father_ about hiring a new employee, not hiding out in the part of the estate he never steps foot in." She turned to the new boy, whispering loud enough for the whole room to hear, "reminds him of his dead wife." 

Leon ran out of cups to refill so gulped down his tea in one swallow. 

"Did he tell you?" Morgana looked at her nails. "Who you're going to be working for?"

"-Morgana-"

"Yakuza, pet. You've tied yourself up with the most powerful Yakuza Clan in Albion City." She leaned forward, predatory like a cobra. 

"-Morgana-"

"Any criminal activity in Camelot District, and part of Mercia, and some part of Caerleon goes through us. Every drug trade, every illegal bet - even _serial killers_ ask Uther Pendragon for his blessing." 

"I…" The new boy swallowed, setting his chopsticks down gracefully, "er, recognized the name on the door."

"He speaks," Morgana smirked.

"I can also write." He shot back, seeming to have finally found his voice. 

"We don't need a secretary, pet." Morgana tapped her finger on her chin thoughtfully, "though, there is a vacancy for a bed warmer."

On her both sides, Leon and Arthur sputtered. But the new boy flicked his eyes between the three again, then grinned cheekily. "Whose bed?"

"Ooh, I like you," Morgana grinned back.

Arthur groaned, "no - wait-"

"So it's settled," the lady stood up, brushing off her dress. "Don't worry, Arthur, your father won't notice who sleeps in your bed-"

"That's not-"

"Welcome to the family, _Merlin_ ," Morgana bowed to the three men as she slipped back into her slippers. "I'll arrange for a tailor." Half turning in the doorway, she said, "you'll be Arthur's new bodyguard."

"I have ten of those!"

"Exactly." Morgana smiled, reaching up to finger her hair pin. "Oh, one last thing."

But Arthur wasn't looking at Morgana, instead looking at the new boy skeptically, "-and do you even know how to-"

Morgana twisted her torso gracefully, whipping the hairpin - which was knife sharp on one end, because of course it was - straight across the room, sailing lightning fast towards its destination right between the new boy's eyes.

It was snatched, centimetres before impact, out of its trajectory by a slender hand.

Leon was on his feet and Arthur was practically foaming at the mouth with anger. But Merlin was looking from the hairpin in his hand to Morgana's smug smile, face pale with awe and a healthy dose of frightened. She gets that a lot, too.

"I think that solves it," she pulled a second hairpin from her bra and tucked it in her bun where the first one was. Morgana bathed in the glory of Arthur's fallen jaw. "What? You didn't see the knives in his sleeves? Oh Arthur, what is it like, I wonder, to be such an idiot?"

She sauntered off to the new boy's snicker, Leon sighing in resignation, and Arthur's sputtering. 

####  **_Arthur at Age 20_**

_\+ Autumn +_

"Well, three assassination attempts and one almost poisoning in just the last three months. The glamorous life of the Yakuza." Morgana paused to light a cigarette, "I dare say you've earned your share."

"I'm not earning anything." Merlin flopped down on Morgana's settee. "Except shelter, I guess."

"No? I've always thought-" she made a crude gesture.

Merlin flushed from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck. "No, that's not - I'm not a rent boy!"

"Pity." Morgana puffed, "he's the Clan heir, you know, you have to be sure it works."

"What was I expecting?" Merlin muttered, sliding further down her couch and clapping a hand over his eyes.

Morgana grinned like a Cheshire cat, because her favourite pastime was psychological torture. "Has any of the Yakuza in Essetir contacted you yet?" She blew a waft of smoke in Merlin's blanched face. "No? Bayard? Huh, I would've thought at least Lot, the informants say he's been eyeing some of our territory." 

"How many times - no - I'm not a spy!"

"Where'd you learn," she mimed throwing a knife. "And don't try to deny you've grown up around Yakuza."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I left Cenred's service."

There was no such thing as leaving one of the Family. But then again, Cenred had, probably, four blocks and two buildings, tops. "Ah so you're earning shelter _and_ protection. Any of those assassination attempts for you then?"

"Maybe." Merlin shrugged guiltily.

"Does Arthur know?"

Merlin sent her a dry look.

"He might be slow, Merlin, but he gets there. Eventually." She took another drag of her cigarette.

Merlin sighed, "where's Gwen?" 

"Running an errand."

"Oh, is that why I'm here?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not a dainty princess like Arthur. I don't need a bodyguard." Morgana waved her hand vaguely in the air, "you're here for the entertainment value."

Merlin clapped his hand against his head again - then sat up abruptly. "Aren't you gonna fire me?"

"Whatever for?" 

"Oh, _I don't know_ , so there aren't double the assassination attempts? So Arthur doesn't get caught in the crossfire?"

"To be quite honest, that's also rather entertaining." 

The bodyguard slumped down on the couch again. "I'm starting to think the poisoning was _you_."

"Never said it wasn't."

"Unbelievable."

"I suspected you were a Yakuza-trained killer that the idiot invited straight into our home and still hired you anyway, didn't I? " Morgana ignored Merlin's incredulous glance in favour of the next drag of her cigarette. "Done any beatings lately?"

"You know Arthur's people don't do that."

"Just checking." Morgana shrugged, then smirked when she heard doors slam in the distance. A second later, her door slammed open, bringing in the thunder cloud of Arthur trailed by a hassled Lance and Percival.

"MERLIN!" Arthur stomped into the room, ignoring Morgana's knowing sneer, "what are you doing - don't listen to anything she says, it's not true!"

"As if!" Morgana scoffed.

Merlin flipped so he was face down and covered his head with a cushion. His voice was muffled when he whined, "You have, like, _fifteen bodyguards!_ Why am I working this hard!" 

"You could always work for me," Morgana said, just to see Arthur stomp his feet like the child that he was. "It's almost winter, I do need a bed warmer."

"NO!" Arthur pulled Merlin by the collar of his suit, and bodily dragged him to his feet.

_+_

There was a loud crash just outside his door, like a stack of books falling, and Arthur opened his mouth - _Merlin, can you walk in a straight line_ \- before the man himself crashed through his closed office door, splintering the wood, and slid across the length of the room to slump against the opposite wall. 

Arthur closed his mouth, leapt out of his chair, and whirled to pull the decorative (and obsessively cleaned and sharpened, thank you George) katana from its wall mount in one smooth motion. Arthur was across the room and on one side of the door before he finished processing the fact that _Merlin wasn't moving._

A slow creak of the splintered door opening...and Arthur had the intruder slammed against the adjacent wall with his blade to the man's throat. 

The man was ugly. There were burns all along the side of his face and dull brown eyes set in a square face - which was currently twisted in surprise and a little fear.

Arthur pressed harder, extracting a thin trickle of blood and a little more fear. He let the situation sink in, then growled lowly, "You better pray to whatever deity you worship that-" _Merlin_ "-any of my men are still alive."

"Pendragon." The man spat.

"Who do you work for?"

"Wrong question." 

Arthur narrowed his gaze. "What do you want?"

"Wrong question."

" _Who_ do you want?"

The intruder grinned toothily. "The White Dra-."

Arthur registered movement in his periphery - _oh thank god_ \- before he was being shoved back, and Merlin's black hair was in his mouth. He loosened his grip on the sword, pointing it down to the ground, as he peered around Merlin's bony shoulder. Just in time to see Merlin expertly twist the man's wrist and turn the thin needle in his hand, dripping with green liquid, against the man himself with a bone breaking crack. It went into the man's chest and then Ugly was collapsing against the floor cutting off his ear grating pained howl.

"You idiot! They want _you_ , Arthur!" Merlin turned with a scowl, but the anger in his gaze was softened by his stumble and the unfocused glazed to his eyes. "Why did you get so close -"

"Where are you hurt!" Arthur barked at Merlin when he listed sideways, because he was extremely talented at turning questions into orders. The family sword clattered to the ground - George is going to be passive aggressive about that later - as he caught Merlin by the upper arms.

"'salright." Merlin huffed in his ear, nearly spraining a muscle from the eye roll he gave Arthur. Well if he had the energy for an eye roll, he really is fine.

Still. "Where _the fuck_ are my twenty bodyguards?!" 

_\+ Winter +_

"So." Morgana bounced unrepentantly on the edge of Merlin's bed - ignoring his pained groan - while Gwen happily sat down in the chair pulled up next to it. "Arthur didn't _at all_ start a fight with Cenred because one of his men tried to set you on fire, did he?"

"A good thing Lance was there. I didn't know we had a fire extinguisher. Otherwise he would've had to throw you out the window. Roll you in the snow a bit." Gwen grinned, offering a small bento box. "I brought you lunch." 

"Thank you Gwen." Merlin grumbled as he took the bento box with a thank you bow of his head. "Arthur wanted to take over that part of Essetir district anyway - thought Cenred was doing a shite job of controlling the slums. Our drugs flow in, nothing flows out except dead bodies." He took a bite, "you know, ODs. And Uther approves of gaining more territory. So, Arthur's going to take the slums and make it better."

"My my, is that pride I hear?" Morgana smirked at him.

"So, Lance!" Merlin blurted at Gwen, not at all subtle. Morgana grinned. "How is - um -"

"Quite well," Gwen blushed, right on cue. "I mean, at least, I think so - well, that is to say-"

"Arthur doesn't know they're dating," Morgana wagged a finger in Merlin's face, "and don't you tell him. He knows Lance is mooning over somebody, even an idiot like Arthur could see that, but he thinks it's you, Merlin." Morgana grinned at the confused glances sent her way. "He doesn't like to share his toys."

A furrow appeared on Merlin's brow. "Is that why you're always trying to hire me when Arthur's around?"

Morgana didn't grace him with an answer, standing up with a flourish and marching towards the exit. Gwen followed after a quick bow. "Feel better, pet!"

 _\+ Spring_ +

"Sir!" One of his sergeants - Gerald? Jerry? Killian? - flagged Iseldir down as he marched to his office. When is he going to be able to walk into his office in the morning without being interrupted? "Remember when you told me to investigate the vandalism issue?"

 _Not at all._ Iseldir nodded warily. 

"I got pictures!" And he did, a heavy stack of them. The sergeant took one from the top of his stack and passed it over.

It was admittedly intricate and curious for simple street vandalism. The white medium was stark against the red brick backdrop. A long scaly body, a mane like fire, curled around a sharp triangular face, with long horns and long fangs framing a snarl, as if the dragon was poised to spit fire.

Iseldir brought the image up to squint at it, looking for a shite to give. Their citizens are being shot in the street and his police officers are taking pictures of painted walls? Where the hell are his detectives? "That's not the Pendragon symbol. What does it mean?"

The sergeant shrugged.

"Well do your job and _find out_ ," Iseldir barked. The rate of policemen these days.

####  **_Arthur at Age 22_**

_\+ Summer +_

Morgana doesn't know why she told Merlin. She almost didn't. She was planning to go to the park with Gwen, just to get away from the fake tax returns and not suspicious financial records, but it was raining that day. So they were holed up in her office, and Merlin came to hide from Arthur.

(Once, a few years back, Arthur visited her and fumbled around until Morgana choked out a laugh, "wait - are you trying to protect Merlin's virtue _from me?!"_

Arthur lifted his chin and braced his shoulders like he was walking into a gunfight, but did not deny it.

Morgana sighed and shook her head at his thick, thick head. "You know he hides in my room because you look everywhere else first."

Arthur sighed back at her, the kind that released all the pre-gunfight tension. "I look everywhere else first because that's where he is." He recognized that Merlin needs his breaks from Arthur, and isn't throwing a tantrum. Interesting. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, "just - take care of him."

"You do a well enough job of that," Morgana said without scorn, a rare feat, "Gwen enjoys his company." 

Arthur digested that the way she intended it - which was, _if this is your convoluted way of giving me your blessing, don't bother, he's yours._

She looked at her nails, "so. Are you going to do something about Cenred?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and stomped out.)

Morgana, chin in hand, was watching the rain splatter against her windows, and she thought, _sometimes I wonder about my dreams._ Gwen shifted into view and Merlin looked up at her with wide open curiosity. Maybe she said it out loud.

After a pause, Merlin said, "sometimes I hear a voice."

There was another beat as something unspoken but acknowledged passed between them. Gwen went to close Morgana's office door, then stood in front of it.

"Does it warn you of danger?" Morgana asked, after a moment.

"It told me when to run from Cenred." Merlin offered. "And towards Arthur." Hesitantly, leaning back in case she might snap at him, he asked, "what are your dreams telling you?"

"We're missing the bigger picture." 

"Yeah," Merlin nodded seriously, like they weren't both crazy, "I feel that too."

Morgana didn't have a response to that.

Merlin glanced at Gwen, who offered up a supportive smile and nodded. He must have read something in that, because he breathed in deep and said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

_\+ Autumn +_

Morgana left the Pendragons three months before Uther's death. No one should have been able to leave the Yakuza. No one wanted to cross Morgana. When the two competing threats clashed, in the end, the latter won out. Arthur wished he didn't already know it was going to happen this way.

Before Morgana left, they had a conversation, for once, not taking shots at each other. It was the kind of once a year occurrence that Arthur stored under lock and key and never let on that he will always remember.

"You were either born into it or stolen as a child," Morgana slanted a sideways look at him. Arthur noticed with a start that something was changing his half sister. Her mannerisms were the same: chain smoking, condescending brow, and _you can't faze me_ attitude. But there was something haunted in her gaze now. "I was both."

She was talking about the Yakuza Family - not the employees, but the main bloodline. It went back generations upon generations, when Albion were warring factions, when modern technology was a fancy, when people fought with sticks and sharpened iron. 

People thought the Yakuza were honour bound to carry the family legacy. They were wrong. They were blood bound. Not even the Yakuza employees knew that.

Arthur wanted to be surprised that Uther would kidnap a Yakuza child, but he only felt disappointment. "Which Family?"

"Le Fay." Morgana stated tonelessly.

"I haven't heard of it."

"Before our time."

"Are they alive?"

"No." And that was that.

Morgana watched the birds outside her window, Arthur watched her.

"Do you think you are your father's son?" She asked without a hint of mockery.

Arthur pondered on the question, as if he hadn't spent most of his life asking himself the same thing. "Once." He stated finally. "Not anymore." He was sure of that.

She very nearly smiled at him. Instead she turned to the window and he left to do business. They didn't talk about it. They were both too emotionally constipated to comfort each other. 

In the weeks after her disappearance, Uther was frantic and Arthur pretended not to be suspicious and that he exhausted all resources. He kept up the finances and pretended he didn't keep expecting her to barge in and make inappropriate comments. Gwen had gone with her, to Arthur's relief, but he didn't know what to do about Lancelot wistfully staring at empty space.

Merlin hovered. Arthur counted three occasions in which he almost felt the warmth of his body, but when he turned, Merlin was a respectable distance away.

Then, they buried Uther. It was elaborate and traditional, perfectly respectable. They put his ashes in the Pendragon family crypt, next to Ygraine. Exactly as he would have wanted.

Merlin hovered. Arthur was simply glad that he was close enough to touch.

Three weeks later, Gwaine joined the Family. His crude humor and propensity to flirt with Merlin was so similar to Morgana that it made Arthur hurt and at the same time suspicious if his half sister turned herself to a hairy, extremely tan, brown haired brown eyed man. They are around the same height. Except he had an Essetir accent. Vastly different from the way Merlin's tongue softly curled around his R's.

Merlin stopped hovering in favour of the shiny swashbuckling stranger, but Arthur found it hard to hold a grudge when Gwaine made him laugh too.

+

“You move fast, Pendragon.” The clan head of Annis said. A woman, a widow, and a powerful head of family. Arthur will never admit aloud, but they all know the respect he has of the Annis clan. That is why he is here today, in Caerleon, having ventured so far in their district under a white flag. “Have your father’s ashes finished burning?”

A brief flash of warmth on his left eased the tension in Arthur’s shoulder. Merlin drifted closer, as if to say, _I’m here_. Arthur found the breath to state evenly, “I come for peace between Clans, Annis.” After a pause, he murmured lowly, “ _mizu ni nagasu."_ _Water under the bridge,_ he meant, let us move on to a brighter future.

“So say all heirs of sinful fathers.” Annis replied sardonically, “your father killed my son, Pendragon. He was two. What do you say to that?” 

_That I’m starting to really hate him_ , he wanted to say but instead Arthur pushed on formally, “If it is atonement you seek, I will gladly give it.”

“A life for a life.” Annis said immediately without inflection, “I would prefer yours, but I am not truly unreasonable. I will compromise for your second.” Arthur looked at Leon, but the woman cut in sharply. “No, Pendragon, your _second_ ” And her finger pointed to - 

_No. No, no, no._ “Merlin?” Arthur scoffed, “he’s not - ”

“Do not try to trick me. And you cannot deny me.” Annis insisted, “or there will be no peace.” And in mockery of him, she stated clearly, “ _jaku niku kyō shoku._ ” _The weak are meat; the strong eat,_ she meant, that is the way of the Yakuza.

“It’s alright, Arthur,” Merlin murmured in his ear, and Arthur strained from the effort of keeping his face neutral. “Trust me.”

 _I do trust you,_ Arthur wasn’t going to say in front of Annis and her damn goons. _I just don’t want to see you die in front of me_. And Arthur was suddenly hit with a sharp pang of realisation that that was true, regardless of situation. 

The head of Pendragon Family swallowed down bile as Annis raised her glass of scotch to him, over the sound of Merlin shedding his coat and one of Annis’ burly gangsters stepping into a makeshift fighting ring.

“First blood,” Arthur found himself saying, eyes locked with the head of Annis Family. If he looked at Merlin now, he might give himself away. “My -” he swallowed, “my man draws first blood, then we will have an alliance.”

“Restraint towards dirtying your hands?” She sneered at him, “my, you _are_ indeed not your father’s son.”

Annis was not the only one who had to make her peace that day. Arthur learned that it would be _very bloody difficult_ to have to watch Merlin die in front of him, as he had feared. Merlin will continue to surprise him with hidden depths after all these years.

Two weeks after they made peace with Caerleon, Elyan came to join them looking for Gwen. He stayed, because he believed Lance when he said Gwen would be back. 

Arthur thought of Morgana, the look in her eyes that day they watched the rain splatter against her office window. He wasn't so sure.

_\+ Winter +_

"Why are we here again?" Since he joined the Pendragon Clan, Gwaine has mastered the art of talking out the side of his mouth. Actually, it was a skill all of Arthur's bodyguards seem to perfect naturally. (No one will tell Arthur, but yes, it _is_ Merlin's influence _.)_

"Better question," Merlin mumbled back, scooting closer, and Gwaine was glad for it, because it was fucking freezing. "Where the hell are we?"

"Didn't you drive here." Percival had a great many skills, such as being unfairly muscular, but he can't seem to get the inflections across when he's talking out the side of his mouth. Gwaine liked to laugh at him for it.

"He was too busy flirting with Arthur to pay attention to the signs." Merlin performed a true miracle on Lance. Gwaine was sure Mr. True and Honourable dropped his sense of humour as a child, but somehow Merlin found it and gave it back to him - and Lance primarily uses it on Merlin in retaliation. 

"Was not."

"I got a question," Elyan shuffled close to the cluster of suits, squinting up and around from his position a few steps lower than them on the staircase, "why couldn't we have gone in with him?" A hand gestured jerkily behind him to indicate the temple they were currently guarding the entrance of.

Half built of white marble, half built of white oak. It was a strange but somehow gorgeous combination. Marble pillars and a weather-worn marble staircase built the foundation of the temple. But it was white oak that made up the panelled walls, with intricate jade dragons carved into the frames of the door and two windows on both sides. The temple rose majestically from the tip of the snowy peak, white and green, as layers and layers of green scales topped the pointed roof. 

"D'You think he's rubbing one off over the other side -" Gwaine stopped when the entire cluster of suits turned as one to stare at him. Gwaine shrugged. Alright, so maybe that was a bit inappropriate.

"He retrieving some kind of - jade scroll, inn'he?" Geraint squinted against the white fog, because ignoring Gwaine was the other specialty the bodyguards all learned very quickly.

Before anyone had a chance to respond, the heavy wooden doors to the temple creaked open, and a blond head popped out. The bodyguards slid into a staggered line of perfect two meter distances from each other as if they were not gossiping a second ago. Gwaine made to scan the surroundings for airborne threats, nevermind that the white fog settled over most of the mountain made that impossible.

"I! CAN HEAR! ALL OF YOU!"

Blue eyes scanned the blank faced set of guards, lighted on Merlin, narrowed, then, the blond head disappeared back into the temple.

After a long, long pause, Galahad, their newest recruit, sighed. "He really does shout quite a lot." 

Merlin nodded furiously, then stilled as his eyes tracked across the frosty air. 

All of the surrounding guards had their guns in their hands out of immediate reflex to the tense line of Merlin's body. 

"We're here because Uther's dead, Morgana's disappeared, Arthur has become the next Pendragon Clan leader, the most powerful man in Camelot, arguably Albion." Leon _finally_ answered Gwaine's original question; having the special ability to not only talk out of the side of his mouth but also carry his voice, _and_ scan his surroundings for the threat Merlin is seeing before any of them. "And our jobs are going to become that much harder."

Leon had barely finished his sentence before Merlin was leaping off the steep staircase - not only is he a badass but also the craziest motherfucker Gwaine has ever met - back sliding across the side of the temple, a black arrow caught under his arm before anyone realized an arrow - _an arrow! An actual arrow!_ \- was involved. They had to put windows into this temple, seriously, _why_.

Since the temple was built on the peak of a mountain, leaping off the side of the steep and winding staircase meant falling a long, long way. Except this was Merlin, so he hung with one arm off the square marble base of the temple, the black arrow in his other hand - _shit, when did he do that?_ \- before he threw the arrow at Leon and gripped the ledge with both hands. Percival and Lance quickly bent to help Merlin. Gwaine backed into the front entrance of the temple, back sliding left until he hit the corner, and peered around to see if he could see where they were coming from. For all the white fog provided him, there could be another mountain fifty metres in front of them or nothing at all.

"There's no visibility!" Gwaine shouted. He checked to see that most of Merlin's torso was on safer ground, then scanned the surrounding white fog again. "Shite! Shite! Five incoming!" He mapped its projected trajectory, and - " _Merlin! Watch out!"_

Because those were Arthur-summoning words, the heavy wooden doors of the temple creaked open.

At the same time, Leon smelled the confiscated arrowhead and barked, "poison! It's poison!" Spotting Arthur with one foot out of the temple and a whole lot of alarmed, Leon gestured for the bodyguards to surround the Pendragon head, "sir! Let's go!"

Gwaine pressed himself back against the wall as an arrow collided into one of the four pillars of the temple, chipped marble, - _shite! What kind of arrows are those?!_ \- and embedded itself into the hole it created. Merlin must have eyes at the back of his head, because he jerked sideways just as another arrow embedded itself into the ledge where his head had been. One more caught the edge of his suit jacket. 

Percival moved quickly to rip Merlin's jacket loose - in nearly the same motion, Merlin scrambled to his knees and rolled himself across the landing before arrows four and five made their mark.

The landing of the arrows was too targeted for the enemy _not_ to have visibility. Leon must have had the same thought, because a second later, he was shouting for everyone to back up against the temple front, right beside Gwaine. They couldn't go inside the temple, because that was just asking to be exploded - plus, you know, windows, again, _why_ \- and they couldn't clear out, because the long winding staircase at least two kilometres with no cover was just asking to be picked off. 

"Did you get it?" Merlin asked Arthur quietly when he half fell onto him and the temple doors. Arthur gripped the back of Merlin's torn jacket as if he might run into the line of fire (not out of the question, this was Merlin).

"Uther's been here," Arthur said back, "it was blank." And wasn't that just wonderful. Gwaine didn't know what it was they were looking for but they apparently were going to get slaughtered over a blank scroll. 

"A trap? From who? How did they know?" Merlin asked out loud, while Leon cast him a glance that said _huh, you're right but also can you put your brain power to getting us out of here._

_Thud. Thud. Thud_. Black arrows were now dotting the side of the temple. Gwaine chanced his head to look over the marble pillar he was braced behind, then jerked back as an arrow missed him by the hair. "Grapple!" He shouted, eyeing as one, then two, then three wedged against the side of the staircase. "Fuck!"

When Gwaine glanced back at Arthur, there was a wash of horror on his face. Lance, on Merlin's other side, was pushing the torn jacket out of the way as Merlin withdrew his hand from his side...and came up with a thick wash of blood, topped with a sickly green glow that even Gwaine could see from several steps away. Arthur and Merlin's gazes locked, looking a breath away from professing their undying love for each other - except Merlin's lips were forming "it's alright, Arthur" -

Then, in no time at all, Merlin's eyes were sliding shut.

The bodyguards twitched to help, torn between the grapples now on both sides, the smell of burning wood - _why_ were there windows, now they’ve set the temple on fire, seriously _why_ -, and Merlin collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

Gwaine barely registered that Arthur was furious, shaking Merlin's limp form, white with terror and rage - then, the earth rumbled unhappily. 

That was the best he could describe it. 

The ground beneath him shivered, like it was begrudgingly awakened; and from one blink to the next, the white fog was swept away in a roaring whirlwind.

The Yakuza and Pendragon trained bodyguards did not hesitate. Pinpoint accurate shots rang down the mountain sides, no bullets wasted, knocking black figure after black figure off the grappling hooks. And then they were sprinting down the steep stairs, a misstep away from falling to their death, Merlin gripped tight in Arthur's arms.

_\+ Spring +_

Merlin was trying to kill him, Arthur was sure of it. As if his wiry frame in a suit wasn't enough, Merlin was trying to take his tailored suit jacket off and untuck his shirt at every opportunity. What he's actually doing was driving Arthur mad. Arthur wanted to send him away - _just to let him breathe, hell_ \- and couldn't bear to be apart from him - _what if there was another killer, they were in a dangerous business, what if, and then there's Gwaine_ \- 

Arthur has a serious problem.

His other _serious_ problem was that Jarl did not give up the underground boxing rings without a fight. Arthur rubbed his forehead but couldn't bring himself to pick up any of his papers.

"Surprised the police aren't knocking down my door." Arthur commented grimly, just to say it out loud.

Leon shuffled uncomfortably, then responded, "Gwaine's happy, you know, he used to be in those rings to earn cash, keep him afloat." Arthur knows, because Gwaine is talking to the new organizers now. Fair fights, fair cash, fair bets.

"Ten caught in the crossfire," Arthur continued as if Leon hadn't said a thing, "some were not even Jarl's men. Probably fucking tourists." He ignored the beseeching look Leon was giving Merlin over his head. "The police _should_ ring me. 'you had us fooled, Arthur, the past couple months since your father died, we thought we'd see less bloodshed. Ten bodies tell us otherwise.’” He ignored the slightly shaky tone his voice had taken, and instead threw his whiskey glass at the wall. “Fuck!" It shattered to pieces satisfyingly.

Leon and Merlin at least had the presence of mind not to flinch. Leon bent down to pick up the broken glass with determined nonchalance. Merlin sat down in the chair in front of Arthur's desk.

Merlin tried to catch his eyes. "You're not your father. It's not the same, Arthur." 

"How is it not the same?"

"They were caught in the crossfire. It was Jarl who opened fire." A slight pause in which Arthur contemplated the rest of the whiskey bottle, but pale fingers stole it out of reach. "At least he's one of the dead."

"Oh yes I'll just explain that nuance to the victim's families, shall I?"

"Arthur," Merlin sighed. "Uther killed people because they got in the way."

"These people were in the way."

"They were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"It doesn't matter how or why, _they're dead."_

"It does, it does matter Arthur!" And Merlin was standing up now, hands on his desk, conviction in his eyes - and Arthur really hated that Merlin could capture all of his attention. "Your father killed for power. You kill for peace."

"That's paradoxical." Arthur reflexively retorted.

"But it's true." Merlin gave him the _you're being a prat on purpose_ scowl, "it'll take years. It will. But you'll achieve it." He gestured out the door, "every fighter who goes through that ring now is going to get fair pay, a fair fight - it's because of you! It'll be _you -_ you'll save Albion City from itself."

Even if Arthur didn't believe in it himself, he'd do it for the Merlin looking at him now. Fuck, he really will. Arthur Pendragon, bringer of peace in the criminal underground. It's laughable. And yet...

He couldn't look away from Merlin, eyes blue and bright and so damn certain. He was in trouble.

Arthur has a serious problem.

_+_

"Commissioner." Oh, the Yakuza strolling into his office. Wonderful. He was _only_ the highest ranking police officer in Camelot District. 

Iseldir stood up in respect, then gestured to the seat in front of his desk. "Pendragon." 

"Arthur, please, Commissioner." The man graciously nodded in greeting, his two bodyguards flanking him. 

Right, no thanks. "I heard you're an incredibly hard man to kill." Yikes, hope that didn't sound like the threat it wasn't.

"So are you." - touché - "My father has been trying for years." 

"So he has." In for a penny, in for a pound. They were already in his office. "The Camelot Police Department has a 80% turnover rate and a 20% mortality rate. Per year. I would say of the 20% percent, a high percentage of those would be Yakuza deaths." Iseldir paused on the edge of a blade, "we sure can prove it, but we can't seem to keep anyone locked away."

The gangster stared at him for an uncomfortable period of time. Civilizations rose and fell in that period of time. Iseldir contemplated his life's decisions, was glad he never married and his family lived far away in Caerleon District (not that the Yakuza wouldn't carry out an execution in someone else's territory, only it wasn't polite), and resigned himself to his unfortunate demise, say, this time next week. Drive by? Car accident? Did he need to update his will?

Finally, the blond man sighed. "I believe we started on the wrong foot, as they say. Let me begin with this." He opened his coat, ignored Iseldir's twitch, indicating that he had no weapon on him, then gestured to his bodyguards. Both men, dark haired and face impassive, opened their suit coats and began pointedly emptying the bullets from their guns and laying it on the ground. One of them had an absurd amount of small knives. That was a clear message as any, except Iseldir is still unclear on what that message, exactly, means.

"I am not my father." Arthur continued. So say all unfortunate sons, amen. He nodded to Iseldir's hand under the table, and said, "you can put that away."

"It's only fair." Iseldir admitted, loosening the cartridge, because he is a fair man. But he placed both cartridge and gun on his desk within reaching distance, because he was also a cautious man. 

"And you have more than twenty years of bloodshed to be skeptical," Arthur allowed, eyeing where he placed his weapon pointedly, "I understand. But we can benefit from each other." And the other shoe drops.

"What do you want in return? Let me guess, a blind eye to your activities?" Iseldir sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He didn't know where his courage to backtalk gangsters came from - oh right, twenty years of Uther - but it was definitely not his _damn police force_ , seeing as they're all cowering outside his door. "You are not your father, Arthur” - there, first name basis with gangsters, what has his life come to? “-so you say, but your father walked into my office, not this one, many years ago -"

"Peace." Arthur interrupted, leaning forward, conviction intent on his face. "No more bloodshed."

For a second - a very tiny split second - Iseldir believed him. "How?"

"I've made alliances with the other Yakuza." Arthur stated, as if it was simple as that. 

"Seeing as you're the most powerful, and very nearly the only one, in Camelot District, well done." Iseldir shot back dryly. He thought one of the bodyguards twitched into a smile but he couldn't be sure.

"I _mean,_ " the Pendragon sounded only half irritated, "all the Yakuza in the Albion City." Arthur stood up and reached into his pocket in one smooth motion that made Iseldir twitch. But he simply extended a business card. Iseldir pinched it between two fingers as if it might set off a bomb. It was the Pendragon symbol and a neatly handwritten date and time. There was no location. Iseldir had a feeling it was his office, because that was just how things turned out. "Why don't you make your calls," Arthur stated, because he was extremely confident, while his bodyguards tucked their weapons away in an alarmingly short amount of time. "Then we'll talk."

"Wait," Iseldir didn't know why it occurred to him then, but he pulled the photo on his desk - the white paint on the alley wall - tucked under stacks of papers, and held it out to Arthur. "Have you seen this before?"

The Commissioner tracked as multiple expressions, however subdued - he _does_ have almost thirty years of police experience - crossed the man's face. The most prominent of which was curiosity. Interesting. "Seems to me, we have similar interests." Arthur stated neutrally. "Can I take this?" 

_I think you would take it even if I said no._ Iseldir thought, but simply nodded, and stood up when the Pendragon turned to the exit. He bowed without taking his eyes off Arthur, who simply folded the paper up and tucked it into his suit jacket, and wordlessly tilted his torso in return. 

####  **_Arthur at Age 24_**

_\+ Summer +_

"You have thirty-something bodyguards, and you chose to take me, _just me_ ," Merlin complained, because he always complained, "to- wherever we are, I don't know -the edge of the world-"

Arthur sent his bodyguard an incredulous look. "You _drove_ us here-"

"-Leon's all in a panic, you know how he gets -"

"No he's not, I already told him-"

"-and we have one gun between the two of us-" 

"You have at least five knives on you," Arthur said, and tried not to wonder exactly where those knives are located. He tugged Merlin's wrists away from his collar because he's not sure he could survive whatever Merlin was about to do with his shirt. "And stop that."

"I'm hot!" _Yes you are_ , Arthur thought involuntarily. Merlin slipped out of his grasp just to throw up his arms. "This suit! I can't breathe!"

"That's _linen_ -"

"-it's _summer_ -"

"-and I'm also wearing a suit-"

"-but you're-" Merlin gestured at Arthur incomprehensibly, then scowled, "why can't we wear normal shirts-"

"You've been wearing suits for six years, how can you not be used to it-" Arthur stepped behind Merlin, pinning his flailing arms to his sides, and _oh, this is not better, not better at all_. But Arthur breathed shallower, didn't let go, and pushed Merlin forward to the edge of the cliff. 

"Oh I understand now," Merlin glared over his shoulder from a short distance away - _that should not be a turn on_ \- and because Merlin refuses to _shut up_ , "you brought me here to kill me."

"Look." Arthur sighed, grabbing a hold of Merlin's head, turning it to face forward and tilting it down. His voice came out rough, and not at all fond. "Look, idiot, that is why I brought you here." He let go, and stepped away while he still had the self restraint to do so.

Arthur watched from the corner of his eye as Merlin let out a breathless 'oh' and his mouth curled into a beaming smile like the slow rising of the sun. Since one can't look at the sun directly in the eye, Arthur turned to admire what he brought Merlin here to see.

The edge of the cliff gave way to a winding ravine. Red, orange, and purple stripped away by nature, leaving the opening jagged and dangerous like the earth baring its teeth. At the bottom, as far they could see, was the white foamy rush of a tumultuous stream. And growing out of the rocky edges were crystals. Blue-white crystals that winked at them now in the glare of the afternoon sun.

"Wow," Merlin breathed out. "That's - Arthur, how -"

"Morgana learned to drive when she was twelve," Arthur blurted suddenly, because he was going to lose the nerve otherwise. He hadn't talked about her since she left two years ago. He ignored Merlin's startled look and breathed deeply, before continuing, "she made a game of losing her guards. Uther's minions, she called them." He gestured back at the parked car behind them, "she almost drove off the cliff, she said. Then she brought me here. I didn't want to come, of course." Arthur turned, and now that Merlin was paying attention to him, he couldn't look away. "But I memorized the way anyway. It felt important, I don't know. I've only been here once." Arthur found himself stepping forward, his knuckles rising up to brush against a smooth cheek. His gaze narrowed down to the way black eyelashes fluttered involuntarily at the touch. "I - I thought - I just wanted - " Arthur didn't know what he wanted, actually, except he couldn't get the idea out of his head to bring Merlin here.

"Arthur." Merlin's voice was breathless, barely audible, and it brought Arthur's gaze down to his lips.

He stopped, swallowing. Merlin must have rubbed off on him, because he rambled, "you don't have to - I'm your boss - I'm, actually - I'm not going to - execute-"

"Arthur." Merlin's lips formed, voice stronger and with a side of exasperation that was familiar. Then he was kissing Arthur. 

"You're going to be the death of me." Merlin whispered, and wasn't that just the thing. 

Arthur reeled back,"no, please," but Merlin muffled the rest with his lips and wrapped his arms around his torso. When they came up for air, there was something in Merlin's eyes he couldn't identify. Before Arthur could so much as search his expression, or ask, Merlin bent his head to rest on Arthur's shoulder, tucking his nose into his neck.

They stood there, in what felt like the span of several lifetimes - not forever because Arthur wanted forever but they couldn't have that - in a delicate embrace.

Good god, Merlin was going to bring him to his knees.

+

Of all things, Arthur never expected that Mithian of clan Rodor would come to him with information, or at all. The Rodor Family was almost fully aboveground; barely tied to the dealings of the Yakuza. In fact, only the old Families - most of them dead, courtesy of Uther, like everything else - knew that the Rodor were an original Yakuza bloodline.

“Why did you help me?” Arthur had the courage to ask, five clandestine meetings later. “Your father was against an alliance, until you got involved, so I heard.”

Mithian looked at him, her eyes like the edge of a knife. “I came to a realization, years back. ‘Let the old men kill each other off, and the young will rise.’ It is the turning of an era, so to speak.”

There was silence and tobacco smoke as Arthur digested that. He didn’t know what to think of it, except that it is true. They were at a turning point. In which way, he wasn’t entirely certain.

“I understand that your brothers died at my father's hand.” Arthur said finally. Annis wanted a life for a life. What does Rodor want? “You have not yet asked for your due.”

“The time for that has yet to come.” Mithian said lightly, and did not at all attempt to sound threatening. 

Regardless of her casual tone, Arthur knew she was a force to be reckoned with. The _women_ in his life. “So you are waiting your turn, then.” 

“Do you want to hear what I’ve come to say?” Mithian raised a brow at him, for once showing her impatience. 

“As long as it does not come at a cost.”

“Everything comes at a cost, Pendragon.” She returned dismissively, then pulled what appeared to be a bloodied card from her pocket. There were two kanji characters embossed into the small business card. Just like the ones every Yakuza family has. “The Gorlois Family. They have been betrayed from the inside.”

“I did not know they were active,” Arthur felt free to admit, ignoring the sharp inhale from behind him and the way Leon shifted forward to take the card. Arthur never received anything from another Yakuza, ally or not, directly anymore. Not after the poisoned letter incident.

“In the shadows,” Mithian allowed his ignorance. “They were working against the Five Families-” what they were all comfortable calling their allyship now - “but a mysterious force seems to have taken them down.”

“I see.” Arthur said neutrally.

It seems he didn’t have to give anything away. When Mithian left, she sent him a sharp smile, apropos of nothing, “women do rule the world after all.”

_\+ Autumn +_

Being part of the Pendragon Family was a lot more eventful than Gwaine expected. Seeing as Gwaine spent his childhood moving drugs in Mercia, youth in illegal boxing rings in Essetir, and some early years of adulthood at the ports, that was really saying something.

"You two," Gwaine shook his head at the pair of blond and brunette heads as he got on his stomach and looked over the cliffs, "like some sort of - what do they call it - thrill seekers." He raised his voice when a gust of wind whistled through the ravine and the pair paused in their climb down to press themselves against the ravine walls tightly. "Y'just finding new ways to get killed, aren't ya?"

Obsessively checking the knots on the rope they've tied to the budding rock climbers, Leon muttered, paced, looked over the cliff, blanched, and repeated. It was honestly pretty entertaining. If Gwaine wasn't so worried himself - sharp crystals! Sharp crystals jutting out from the ground? Not to mention the _fall_ ? Not to mention half the time they were probably climbing upside down because it was a _ravine_ \- he would be watching Leon. 

"Uh…" Gwaine was starting to think they had the worst sort of luck. His tone of voice brought Leon forward in a scramble.

"Oh, fuck," Leon muttered. Shouting over the cliff without pushing his torso too far, "abort! Abort!"

" _What?!"_ Came Arthur's faint voice that sounded more high pitched and tinny because it was half carried by the wind. They somehow made it halfway down, _but_ Gwaine wasn't so confident they could survive what happened next. 

"Three o'clock!" He shouted.

From the amount of cursing floating up to them, Arthur and Merlin spotted the threat as well.

Giant. Fucking. Spiders.

Gwaine's _entire life_ does not compare to this. "Anyone got, like, insecticide or something?"

Leon stopped pacing to spare Gwaine an incredulous look, then cocked his gun - as if _that_ was a better suggestion.

Did he mention, giant. fucking. spiders? Sharp crystals. Unclimbable ravine. Deadly fall.

A normal day in the life of Merlin and Arthur. They should be a sitcom.

Arthur had a certain level of being-Yakuza-Clan-head crazy about him, in a very sedate sort of way. Merlin was all fun and games and _roll with it_ even off a bloody cliff - which is a new level of crazy. If Arthur had asked Gwaine, he would've tried a) no b) no fucking way c) not a chance in hell and then fled the city. Possibly the country, just to be safe.

“Distract them!” Came Merlin’s voice, lighter and with a slight roll to his R’s. No matter what Arthur thought, that _was not_ an Essetir accent. Gwaine would know. Also, the way Merlin handled his knives was not at all a Cenred signature. Again, Gwaine would know. But he hadn’t quite gotten around to ask. 

“With what?” Gwaine muttered but pulled his gun out too, because maybe _giant fucking spiders_ were scared of noise. Or some shite. 

Leon cursed colourfully next to him, his bullets bouncing off the big ugly, hairy black hides. They were going to run out of bullets at this rate.

Gwaine chanced a look over the cliff face and felt his heart come up his throat. After a lifetime of wandering around the worst and dirtiest parts of Albion City, no friend or ally or Family to speak of, he finally joined a Family, formed some damn ill-advised attachments, and they’re going to have the _audacity_ to die off of some crazy ravine, via _giant fucking spiders_ , because this was his luck.

Bloody hell, Gwaine didn’t regret any of his life decisions up until this point. 

+

"I'm starting to think I did not come to the City Police by luck, Arthur," Iseldir sighed when he walked into his office to a familiar guest already waiting for him. He saw the suits outside his door and had to detour from his original path to the coffee machine and he was starting to regret it. The suits followed him into the room to stand _oh so_ casually behind Arthur. Iseldir was not fooled, but in the two years of their acquaintance, they had never drawn their weapons in his presence. It was always the same two men, and Iseldir had to wonder if Arthur thought the Commissioner didn't have a file on his organization.

"My assassins have white paint on their fingers."

Iseldir examined the non sequitur from different angles and came up with _I'm too old for this shite._ "I'm not sparing any of my men for your protection." Because he didn't know what else to say. And it was true. 

"I don't need your men," Arthur sighed, pulling out a print - oh that. "The graffiti. Did you find anything else about it?" What does everyone think someone at Iseldir's level does, exactly? 

"Are you fishing me for information or seeing how much I know?" Because in the span of two years, Iseldir stopped flinching when Arthur reached into his coat and shamelessly turned every conversation into a quest for information. 

"It's not the Pendragon symbol, they're painting it in the alleyways all over Albion, and it has something to do with the Yakuza conflict." Arthur obliged with a roll of his eyes. Attitude _and_ condescension this early in the morning, Iseldir really should have had a cup of coffee. "Except we've been at peace for two years. And yet." He spread his arms, and raised his brow, _your turn._

"Not quite," Iseldir said, because he was City Police now, "Essetir district is tearing itself apart." Apparently, not news to Arthur. "Bodies turning up in the Coast of Meredor. Possibly a new Family name," Iseldir shrugged, like it doesn't keep him up at night (it does). Also not news to Arthur. "Two years ago, we saw one a week -" he gestured to the image, "before it would disappear and pop up somewhere else. Now, there's five a week and it's everywhere. It's a movement and they're getting bolder. Or, it's an event, and it's getting closer." Iseldir met Arthur's almost bored look, and said carefully, "or neither. The symbol is a person."

"You know what it means." Arthur leaned forward, intent and focused, and Iseldir remembered -

_Peace. No more bloodshed._

"There's a legend," Iseldir stated, pausing to search Arthur's face, but the gangster gave nothing away. In two years, Arthur learned to school his expressions in front of a veteran policeman. "Of sorts," Iseldir corrected, "The White Dragon will rise to save Albion." One of Arthur's suits shifted, and Iseldir paused, apologetic that that was all he could give. "Something like that. The exact wording has been lost courtesy of Pendragon Senior." Seeing as he was sitting in front of Pendragon junior, he probably shouldn't have said that.

Arthur worked his jaw, but didn't look more murderous than the low-grade deadliness that he carried around with him typically. "The White Dragon." He repeated thoughtfully. "Doesn't explain the assassins with the white paint."

"Sometimes it's painted upside down." Iseldir didn't know if he _should_ keep going, but in honour of their acquaintance - and the fact that they had always put all cards on the table, he did. "People think it's you, Pen _dragon_ ." Arthur only looked distracted when he stated the obvious, so he must've already thought it. "The graffiti - a warning or a calling, maybe both. What I want to know is why Uther put a considerable amount of resources into...erasing the story." A heavy silence fell because they all knew what that meant. Iseldir speculated out loud, just to watch Arthur's reaction, "fear that his son will rise to a power greater than he? Jealousy, perhaps, so he could claim that _he_ was the saviour of Albion? Or was it hate, that _his own son_ , could possibly undo all the work that he did?"

After a long pause in which Iseldir again re-evaluated his life decisions and was grateful he updated his will recently, Arthur concluded flatly. "There is more to the story."

Iseldir thought so too but didn't visibly agree. He was already giving away information to a gangster, if he started agreeing, his police commissioner uniform might fall apart from mortification.

_\+ Winter +_

The nameless Family that Iseldir's people were looking into was rising, casting a long shadow from the east. In the months since the bodies started turning up on the coast, even the proud Annis had come to the Pendragons.

Black poisoned arrows. Petty criminals all of the sudden doing not-so-petty criminal things. Trafficked goods disappearing. Strikes. Informants not answering calls.

Meanwhile, Arthur found, written in the margin of Uther's bloodthirsty but meticulous notes: _Heir of a Dragon._

He didn't know what to do about either of those problems yet, but he wasn't sending more of his men out to investigate. Because they weren't coming back.

He's taken up smoking. Typically, Arthur has a pack of cigarettes on him to keep up appearances. Morgana's incessant chain-smoking had put him off, but nowadays…well. He's taken up a lot of things. 

Merlin ambled into Arthur's room with his arms full of containers - Arthur doesn't ask anymore, he's starting to think Merlin carries random items on purpose - giving him a look when he saw the cigarette in his fingers, but said nothing. (Yet. Arthur has found that Merlin likes to brace himself for his speeches, unlike Arthur, who tends to burst into a room at full steam.)

"Poison arrows." Arthur said to Merlin. More accurately, his back. "Should we start manufacturing an antidote? Are we in a horrid comic book? Think they'll do an evil speech on top of some skyscraper?"

Merlin shrugged as he arranged the food on the side table. Brownies first, because Arthur has a sweet tooth.

"Merlin," Arthur scowled, because he is a horrible addict...of Merlin's attention. Fuck, that was ridiculous, he's never saying that out loud.

"Arthur," Merlin sighed at him, plucking the cigarette out of his fingers and taking a drag himself. He plopped down next to him. "You're thinking too much."

"Make me stop thinking."

Merlin rolled his eyes, "you mixed alcohol, weed, a bloody cig, and - _what is that_ \- did you take coke as well? Hell, Arthur, Gwaine's right, you're inventing new ways to kill yourself." He plucked the glass out of his hand too, setting it aside, "eat. Sober up, fuck's sake."

Days later, Arthur laid on his bed, staring up at his ceiling _too sober._ His men were conspiring against him. It's not like he doesn't have the keys to his own bloody cabinets. Except, they're all mysteriously misplaced. Bastards.

"Heir of the Dragon."

"Hm?" Merlin shifted beside him, tucking a leg over Arthur's as he continued flipping through one of Uther's notebooks. 

"What are you doing?" Arthur scrubbed a foot up Merlin's calf in response. _Why aren't you paying attention to me?_

"Mm?" 

"What's so interesting in there? You've been reading them for days."

" _You've_ been reading them for days. I only just looked at it."

"So?"

Merlin shrugged. 

Arthur sighed, sitting up so he could peer over Merlin's shoulder. "Seeing if you've got Yakuza ties?" He asked, mostly joking.

Merlin shrugged again, suddenly tense.

"What's with you?"

"Arthur, what if…" Merlin paused to set the folders aside, but didn't look at him. "I talked to Morgana you know, before she left. I knew she was going to…" he grasped the comforter, then loosened his hand, then clenched it again.

Arthur stared at him, bewildered. "Alright," he said slowly, "no one could have stopped her anyway."

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it. "We just...we talked about. A lot." He breathed in deep, and was telling him nothing at all, "she. went to see. About it."

"Merlin," Arthur stated slowly, because his brain was firing away and he didn't know what to think. "Merlin, I don't understand. Are you coming clean - did you - with Morgana?" It was a possibility Arthur had thought of - for probably too long - well. He hadn't thought of it in a while. "Even if you did," he added quickly, "I wouldn't - ahem - judge - and it was before we…"

"No!" Merlin looked at him, horrified, "no - I - Arthur -" then he made the same face Arthur would've made if the accusation was turned on him. "No, I didn't sleep with Morgana, god!"

"Alright, okay, I believe you. Fuck, I don't know. Just -" Arthur waved at Merlin, "I can't fucking read your mind okay - spit it out!"

"Don't. Be upset."

Soberness doesn't suit him, it doesn't, because Arthur blurted, "are you breaking up with me?"

"No, Arthur, I'm not! Okay, okay, just -" Merlin wringed his hands, _actually_ wringed his hands. Like some kind of Victorian maiden. Good god. How bad is it?

"Use small words, or something."

Merlin gave him an exasperated look.

"I'm on the edge of my seat here," maybe Arthur rambles when he's nervous. This is all Merlin's fault, he didn't do that before. "It's like you've got a bloody secret child."

"I don't - " Merlin looked up at the ceiling as if to pray for patience then turned to grasp his upper arms. "Arthur, okay, I'll just say it, okay?"

"Please."

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it.

"Fucking hell." Arthur breathed, "you're actually trying to kill me."

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, then said, "okay, okay give me your lighter."

"What?"

"Lighter, please, Arthur." 

Arthur was still reeling from Merlin actually saying _please_ and to _him_ before he realized Merlin had taken his shirt off and was flicking the lighter open. "If this is one of your kinks-" Merlin sent him an annoyed look and moved out of Arthur's immediate grabbing range.

"Arthur," and Merlin's face was the kind of serious that made Arthur freeze, a kind of trepidation falling over his features that he's never seen before. "Just - look." 

He flicked the lighter deftly, a small blaze wavering at the tips of his fingers. Arthur barely held his tongue, feeling something heavy fill the room. Merlin touched the flame to a spot on his lower left ribs. A split second of contact, that was all it took, before his skin started glowing.

No, that was inaccurate.

Golden ink spread out from the blazing contact in the shape of -

"No, that's…" _impossible_. Merlin is impossible. "That's -" he's seen it. He's seen it in Uther's notes. "That's Emrys Clan." Arthur reeled back so far, he almost fell off the bed. "That's not possible - that's -"

Merlin’s eyes, bright blue and imploring - a ring of golden around black pupils - 

Arthur breathed heavily but couldn’t find the words or the brain power -

His thoughts scattered. He was too sober, _too sober_ for this.

+

On Morgana's birthday, two years after she left them, a postcard arrived.

(Exactly one year after Morgana left, the first postcard came. It was dirty and tattered as if someone threw it in the street and let a truck roll over it. There was no return address, no signature, not even a tourist picture. Just a plain white card with the Pendragon estate address in the front. In the back, Morgana's handwriting: _I'm fine. Don't worry._ Arthur didn't expect another one after that.)

It took Arthur three days to crack her code. Basically, it told him _it's coming_ , whatever that means, and a practically pornographic paragraph which translated to how to send her a message and where to meet, but only if dire.

Albion is practically covered in shadow and burning to the ground. What, exactly, does Morgana count as _'dire'_?

He gave it to Lance for safekeeping. He's spread his various notes and important slips, like Morgana's postcards, amongst his bodyguards. It's never good to have them all in one place. 

He doesn't look at Lance in the face. He's being childish, and unfair, he knows, but. 

_("Merlin - no one knows right?"_

_"Um...do you remember the fire? Years ago? Cenred's man?"_

_"You got burned - wait, did someone see - but Cenred's man died that day, didn't he?"_

_"Yes, but it was Lance who got to me first -"_

_"Lance - !"_

_"Yes, Arthur, he saw. He promised to keep it secret."_

_"That was -_ years!"

_"Don't be mad Arthur, I made him swear!" )_

Arthur was being childish, about Lance, and about - 

But he couldn’t help it. He felt like this world was turned upside down. Albion was burning. Merlin was Emrys. Arthur dealt with one problem at a time - which is to say, he didn’t acknowledge Merlin’s bloodline if he could help it.

+

Because the City had a propensity for giving ridiculous names to everyone, they called the nameless Family the _Kurai Kage_. The dark shadow that spread and spread, taking hold and strangling those that stood in its path.

Mere days after even the untouchable Rodor clan went into hiding, in which Mithian had the courtesy to send a message ('try to contact me and I _will_ kill you'), they came after the Pendragon Estate.

The Pendragon Estate was sprawling. It sat at the center of Camelot, which is the southwest-center-ish of Albion City. It was never really a secret where they were located, hence all the bloody assassination attempts. It was simply a fortress. One made it a few rooms, maybe down a hallway if lucky, but not much further.

The _Kurai Kage_ blew an entire wing to bits.

They weren't in that wing, luckily, but that also wasn't the only part of the Estate they were trying to explode.

Leon barreled into Arthur's office, gun in hand, half of him splattered with blood. Merlin and Lance were already standing and grabbing bags from behind the walls. They had been preparing for an attack for days. Not exactly prepared for a fucking _grenade_ , but the _Kurai Kage_ attacked each Family differently, it was hard to predict their methodology.

Out of instinct, Arthur pulled the Pendragon katana from his office wall, then scrambled at the papers on his desk. Merlin yanked on his arm, "Arthur-Arthur-come on!"

They sprinted out into the corridor, Arthur's men falling into place in front, on his sides, and behind him. 

Arthur nearly ripped the paper in his hands from how tight he was clenching it. He turned to give it to "Merlin-" only to find that it was Geraint on his right and Percival on his left, with Lance and Leon right in front of him. "What-" but Gwaine was shoving him forward, refusing to be slowed down by Arthur's bewildered stumble. Merlin _always_ , always remained alongside Arthur, but now - Arthur glanced behind him again as they sprinted down another long hallway - he was in the back, far back. 

One more turn - what were they doing, they were getting deeper into the Estate - Arthur caught a glimpse of Merlin throwing his knives, _whip. whip. whip._ There goes three, pinpoint accurate, as always.

Then all of the sudden, they were filing into a room at the far back of the house - the old wing that they never use with the tatami mats and older foundations, wooden frames buckling under the weight of time, definitely going to burn down once the _Kurai Kage_ gets there - "This isn't the plan - where's Merlin -"

But no one answered him as Galahad and Percival removed a fake wall panel - what, when did they do that, that's fresh, _did they damage his house without telling him?! -_ and Merlin was still out in the corridor. There was a shout as Pendragon suits were tossed like rag dolls. 

"Arthur, come on-" Leon was tugging at his arm, Lance was refusing to meet his eyes, even Gwaine - Gwaine who always had a smart remark and lived for danger - was uncomfortable. Arthur was missing something.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_ Gunshots, gunshots sounding extremely close. More grunting and bodies slamming and gurgles and blood - blood spattering in the hallway.

A heavy thud, as suddenly, the back wall had a large person size hole leading out into the roads behind the Estate. 

Leon ushered Arthur forward, but he dug his heels in. "Wait - Merlin," Arthur glanced back into the hallways _\- what the fuck, where is he_ \- there's a lot of bodies, "MERLIN - !"

Then by some miracle, Merlin did tumble into sight; falling through the doorway into the room as he grappled with another figure clad in all black. His hands a flurry - he was using his hands, Merlin never uses his hands, he hates it, that means he's weaponless -

"Come ON!" Leon was shouting in his face now, but Arthur wouldn't let him - let them separate - he wasn't going to _leave Merlin -_

Merlin twisted his elbows around the enemy's neck. With a snap, the threat was eliminated, and Merlin should be joining Arthur's men, crowding around their exit. 

Instead, Merlin glanced at him - and Arthur knew it then, _fuck_ \- shouting to Leon, "get him out!"

"No, wait, Merlin, you don't have to -"

"I'll be right behind you - I'll cover your exit!" Merlin lied, because Arthur is really good at reading his lies now.

"No, _NO_ , Merlin you're coming-" _with me_ was drowned out by an explosion throwing them back against whatever bit of wall was closest. 

Arthur crashed against the wooden frame - just beside the hole in the wall - Lance's heavy body on top of him, sheltering him against most of the debris. Merlin was at the other side of the room just inside the blown open doors, curled with his arms crossed over his head. 

Arthur threw Lance off him immediately with a grunt, stumbling on one knee, crawling to get to Merlin. Merlin's bright blue gaze tracked the room, at the debris that was still falling like dominos, then locked on Arthur.

Arthur's ears were ringing. He knew Merlin was shouting at him but he couldn't hear a word he was saying. He shook his head, to clear it, to indicate he couldn't hear. But he didn't need to, because he could read Merlin's lips; he could hear him say it, what he always says, _'It's alright. Arthur, trust me.'_

"No! No!" Arthur tried to shout, but he couldn't even hear himself. Arms were pulling him back - Lance was on one side, Leon was on the other, dragging him out of the debris, pushing him out of a cracked hole in the wall, Kay, Gwaine, Galahad blocked his sight, and then his shoulder was hitting the paved stone of the alley - 

He was being half dragged, half shoved - turn right. Left. Right - a brick wall, he tried to turn back, but then Percival was there, like a human wall - right, left -

He took out his phone to - but Gwaine snatched it from shaking thumbs, throwing it to the pavement and Kay was smashing it underfoot.

They were well into the glass towers of Nemeth District before they let Arthur stop, falling to his knees.

Arthur lost track, Arthur couldn't even tell where he was, how long they were running, his heart beating fast to the cadence of _Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, we left, Merlin, Merlin -_

He lost Merlin.

A great earth trembling roar shattered the night, booming loud and clear across all corners of Albion. The ground shivered, the wind stilled. Then a white flash, like lightning splitting the night sky, but bigger, more terrifying, in the silver silhouette of a dragon. Its long, winding body curled around Albion almost defensively, snarling, before disappearing with another lightning _crack_ , but an afterimage lingered in the back of every witness' eyelids.

####  **_Arthur at age 25_**

_\+ Spring +_

Arthur was alone. 

That doesn't mean he didn't have suits hiding in the dark corners of the police commissioner's office. Because it was the middle of the night. Because - Iseldir had reasoned months ago when his men arrived at the destruction that was the Pendragon Estate - Arthur had either been killed or gone to ground. He should've expected this. And yet, here he was, stopped at his office door after brewing himself his nth cup of coffee. Why was he still at work? Why does he have to deal with this? Oh right, bodies. Bodies washing up.

"Arthur, what a change of pace." The Commissioner greeted. Then he realized he probably shouldn't be as absurdly pleased as he is now, to find a missing Yakuza clan leader was alive. "What can I do for you?"

He probably should be more upset that Arthur was drinking Iseldir's hidden whiskey using Iseldir's hidden whiskey glass. But Iseldir had only ever seen Arthur in an immaculately pressed suit, not a hair out of place, so he'll forgive the man who looked like he'd been run over by a tank, just this once. A change of pace indeed.

"Did you find bodies at the Pendragon Estate?"

"Several dozen." He wasn't going to spare the other man no matter how bad he looked.

"Was one of my bodyguards …" Arthur swallowed and gulped down the rest of the stolen whiskey in the stolen - borrowed - glass.

"Which one?" Iseldir asked instinctively, then because he had memorized the faces of Arthur's two bodyguards long ago, said immediately, "neither." 

Arthur nodded, like he knew and just wanted confirmation.

"The Family," Iseldir said, the death toll was almost, almost the same as Uther's massacre years back, "they're not from Albion. It seems they've traveled here from Amata." Amata was far to the east, a mountain range and a plain separating it from Albion City. Still, it was only a couple hours of train ride. It was a small city, small enough to only have one district, not like the five of Albion's. And small enough that when Iseldir made his call, their Commissioner had a mental breakdown and thanked multiple deities that it wasn't their problem anymore. There might have been tears. Iseldir didn't stick around to find out.

"You have the name?" Arthur cut in sharp as a blade. The murderous intent was nearly suffocating. This is why he doesn't associate with Yakuza. And yet, here he was.

"Sarrum." They were still poring through the train manifestos in an attempt to map the organization. Amata PD was vastly unhelpful, and also, apparently, in the dark ages because they had no electronic copies of anything. And their security cameras were in black and white.

Arthur's unguarded face told Iseldir the folder they're putting together is probably going to be made of pictures from the morgue. 

Iseldir breathed in deep, then took a step towards the man before thinking better of it and rocking back on his heels. "Arthur - I know you're...the White Dragon - actually, the whole of Albion..." when he trailed off, they succumbed to a tense silence. Well done, Iseldir, you've made it to Commissioner General of the City Police, and you can't confront a man about the supernatural. 

Arthur's high survival rate was starting to make a lot of sense.

"Are you tired, Iseldir?" The commissioner took a second to digest the fact that Arthur knew his name all this time.

So, so tired. "You're going to have to be more specific. Tired of what?"

"Of the Yakuza war." Arthur said in the tone of who's had to crawl his way out of a battlefield.

"I've lived it longer than you," Iseldir sighed, "and on the other side."

"I wouldn't say the other side," Arthur muttered, sounding incredibly human. 

_Peace. No more bloodshed._

"Are you going to make good on your promise?" Iseldir asked before he lost the nerve.

"Yes." He was three years older but there was the same conviction in his eyes. Iseldir believed him. Truly believed him this time. 

"What do you need?" Iseldir asked again, this time, meaning it.

"Records. Family lineages."

"You couldn't find that in the library?" 

"The rise and fall of every Yakuza clan that has passed through Albion."

"From?"

Arthur raised a brow, "beginning of time." He shrugged, "earliest written records. Whatever you can find."

"Tall order, Arthur. Do I look like a university?"

"You have two hundred men."

"Yes, but there's five new bodies washing up the Coast of Meredor every hour," Iseldir couldn't help but remind him, because he had a death wish. And because he couldn't control his mouth anymore - maybe it was the lateness of the hour, maybe it was the fact that he was standing in front of a myth, a legend - he continued, "the population of Albion City is 2 million. It's been a year. How long will it be before a fraction of our capital city is wiped out?"

+

"So, you can read a secret message." 

The mocking tone of Morgana's first words to him in two and a half years stabbed him low in the ribs with a pang of familiarity. Arthur scanned the surroundings, waving his hands for his bodyguards to stay where they are, and said instead, "hello, Morgana, I'm well and alive, thank you for asking."

"Pity," she quipped, but it fell flat.

Arthur came to a stop next to her, nearly to the edge of the cliff.

She was already halfway through a cigarette and making quick progress by the looks of it. "So. What do you want?"

"Merlin."

"You'll find him." She said, almost weary.

Interesting response, seeing as he never said Merlin was missing. And it neither confirms or denies that she knows where he is. But supposedly there was no other way to take that answer. "Yes. I will."

"Good. That's that." Cigarette smoke snaked in the air as Morgana waved her hand, "thank you for coming, lovely to see you brother, until we meet again, ta." 

"Morgana," Arthur sighed, not budging. "What do you know?"

Morgana looked at him, really looked. The Morgana in his mind was haunted, a pale shadow of her younger self. The Morgana of real life was gaunt and shaken, her expression unfamiliar and shuttered. She was taking his measure - not like when they were kids, when she dared him to be better - but like a stranger. Like she was evaluating what kind of man he was, if he was going to live up to her expectations, like she didn't know what he was going to do next. Like he was the cliff she was about to jump off of, not the ravine one step away.

Since they were seven, nearly every interaction was a challenge to be the stronger sibling. Now, Arthur barely had the strength to hold himself together. He didn't know if he measured up and was too tired to care. "Bodies turning up on the Coast. The _Kurai Kage. Sarrum_. Crime; lawless meaningless crime. You know who they are, what they’re doing, and why, don't you?"

Morgana, impossibly, paled so far she almost turned transparent. She sent him a sharp look, cigarette falling from her fingertips. "Don't cross them Arthur. They can reduce Pendragon Estate to rubble."

"Yes," Arthur gritted his teeth, "I was there."

"They're not like - they're not normal Yakuza." What is normal Yakuza, exactly? But the slight waver in Morgana's voice was the most alarming. 

“You’ve come across them.” Arthur said with realization, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. This was Morgana.

"They’re shadows. They can’t die.” - _what?_ \- “I can't tell you more. I can't, Arthur." She looked at him and her eyes held terrors he couldn't fathom. 

He was silent for a long, long time.

"Two years, Morgana," Arthur sighed, turning to gaze unseeing at the scenery. "I never asked. I left you alone because I knew that's what you wanted." There was a long, long pause. Then, "give me something. Please."

Morgana breathed in sharply, then said, "women were the head of Clan for Le Fay." She dropped the stub and reached into her coat for another, because of course her chain-smoking got worse in the two and half years since he's seen her. He waited as she lit her cigarette and brought it to her lips for a long drag. "There was...a gift passed from mother to daughter."

"Something that made Uther-"

"Yes." Morgana turned a sharp glare to him, then pressed her lips to a thin line, which meant, _that's all I'll say about it_. But she continued anyway in a sudden leap of topics, "he killed all the heirs." Morgana stared at him as if there was a conclusion he had to draw. "when he took all the Camelot territories, and didn't end up taking any of the other districts. He still sent assassins out for the heirs. Every heir. Except you."

"He was eliminating the Yakuza bloodline." 

"Yes." Morgana's fingers were trembling, but she brought the cigarette up to her lips anyway. "The Dragon," she stated faux-casually, not looking at him. "It's passed down in the blood." She looked up at the sky, but didn't say anything about flashes of lighting or earth shattering roars.

"The heirs," Arthur rewound the conversation to put together what she wasn't telling him. "So there were more than one clan with the blood of the dragon." 

Morgana blinked slowly at him, _‘is there a question here?’_ her eyebrow said.

"Give me a name."

"Does it matter? Your father slaughtered them all," she hissed, and it was vindictive, Greater-Than-Thou Morgana again. "that's what Gaius didn't say. You were never as smart as I am, I know, but do try to read between the lines." Then, just because she knew how to make it sting, she added, "how does it feel to be the last of the Dragon blood?"

Arthur alighted on their child tutor instead of succumbing to her games. "Gaius-"

"He's dead." Morgana interrupted flatly, "I checked."

Of course. Of course he is. "Clan name, Morgana. Just give me one."

Morgana sighed, letting go of the cigarette stub and stomping it out. She reached into one of her coat pockets to withdraw an ink sketch. "Kilgharrah. The Kilgharrah Clan were once Dragon." She flicked it out to Arthur between her perfectly manicured index and middle finger. "I've looked. Don't you think I've looked for the Dragon clans?" 

He folded the paper and slid it into his lining pocket. "What about the Emrys clan?"

Morgana's response was swift and final like the slamming shut of iron gates. "Don't be silly, Arthur, not every clan Uther eliminated was a Dragon clan."

Arthur didn't know to be suspicious of her sharpness or annoyed about the condescension.

"Thank you." He stated gently, trying not to act like it was significant, like they never said anything like that to each other before.

Morgana had the grace to incline her head, crossing one arm across her chest.

When he turned to leave, she stopped him with her free hand on his upper arm. She didn't look at him when she said, just as gently, "happy birthday."

Last birthday, he had Merlin and there was no trace of Morgana. This birthday - here was Morgana and there was no Merlin. How things have changed.

Wordlessly, Arthur nodded at her in echo of her earlier grace, then squeezed the hand she left on his arm.

After a moment, Arthur tugged at her wrist, turning it upwards. He reached into his pant pocket and placed a burner phone into her hand. Morgana said nothing and didn't resist when he wrapped her fingers around the phone and pushed it at her.

 _I don't need your help,_ she didn't say.

 _You don't need to ask,_ he didn't say back.

When he let go, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked out into the ravine. She didn't acknowledge him further.

Arthur walked back to the car and pulled himself into the backseat. Leon sat in the driver's, and Lance got into the passenger's side. Gwaine tucked himself into the backseat on the other side of Arthur.

For a long moment no one spoke.

Then Leon turned around, one hand on the wheel. "What next?"

Inhale. Morgana's face, pale and scared, eyes haunted. Exhale. "I don't know."


	2. Interlude: MERLIN

####  **_Merlin at age 1_ **

Merlin’s earliest memory was of a box, and he had a little hole that let in light. He would chase the light when it traveled around the box and giggle.

Then the top would open and a man - he remembered white hair and a stern eyebrow - would shush him.

He remembered swaying, like maybe he was on water.

And garbled sounds, sounds he wouldn't know until later, way later. Even before the wrinkled man with white hair. There were the gentle soothing tones of his mother and father. 

Conversing. Holding him. 

Then he was in the box, that's all he knew.

_ ‘Uncle Gaius’ _ were the first words he spoke. 

####  **_Merlin at age 7_ **

The first thing he learned was,  _ you're an Emrys,  _ before he understood what that meant,  _ remember you're an Emrys but never, never tell anyone. It's a secret. And don't go near fire. _

Then, Uncle Gaius was captured. They came in the night and Gaius hid him under the floorboards. 

He was small and there was a voice in his head that whispered,  _ hide, hide _ . So he stayed in the little space, when night turned into day, and night again, and day, and no one else walked into the house. Uncle Gaius never came back.

The third day, he crawled out because he was hungry. 

The second week, he ran from the house because there was no food.

The third month, Merlin was unrecognisable. Dirt streaked his face, his white shirt was brown with mud. He hid with the other boys in the street and never said a word about where he came from. 

No one asked.

Then one day, a man came. He was bald and big and square. He walked into the shadow of the bridge where all the street boys stayed. And they all cowered in front of him. 

He stopped in front of Merlin. "You're new." He said. He extended a hand, big as Merlin's face, to ruffle his hair or yank his head - or, or he didn't know. 

Merlin didn't know what the man wanted so he snapped his teeth and shook his head wildly.

“Spirit." The man commented with a hint of excitement. "Yes. You are like a stray wolf, aren’t you? You are not with your pack.” The man extended a hand. “I will teach you, Little Wolf. Join my pack."

_ Be wary of him _ , the Voice in his head whispered,  _ but learn, learn everything. _

“I am called the Catha.” The bald man said when Merlin was in new clothes and his face wasn't streaked with dirt, and his stomach wasn't howling at him, “we are Assassins of the Night. I will mold you into a weapon.”

_ You will become more than that, _ the Voice in his head sighed,  _ but that comes later. _

####  **_Merlin at age 18_ **

The Catha serviced anyone who paid enough. And the Little Wolf was the asking price of a hundred or more. He never told the catha his name - neither ‘Merlin’ or ‘Emrys’ - and they didn't need to know because they already gave him one.  _ Little Wolf _ , they all whispered, in the shadows, in the ears of potential clients, in the training studios.

By his early youth, Merlin was bartered around for his services and he could see the blood on his hands, clear as day, even if no one else cared to look. Eventually he ended up in Albion City, in Cenred's service.

Then one day, the Voice whispered at him -

_ Run _ . 

Merlin didn't know why, but he felt a pull, so he did. 

He ran and ran, through the slums of Essetir, through the dark alleys of Mercia district. Ran and ran he did - until he ran out in front of a car peeling away from the sidewalk, toppled onto their windshield, and brought two blondes in suits running out with panicked shouts. 

When they asked him his name, he said, "Merlin," for the first time in over a decade.

And when they asked where he lived, he said truthfully, "nowhere." He had nowhere to go because he was finished running.

+

“I know what you are.”

Merlin jerked awake, eyes immediately alighting on the threat in the room. Bare feet and long pale legs crossed, the torso engulfed in shadow. A single waft of smoke held by pale, elegant fingers gave away the owner. Merlin scrambled up the head of the bed, body coiled tight and thankful he had kept his clothes (and thus, knives) on. He wasn’t going to relax the first  _ week _ , even month, in a new environment. 

“How did you get in here.” Merlin stated, rather than asked, because he knew he locked his door every night.

Morgana leaned forward, right elbow on knee and chin in hand, casting half her face in the moonlight from the window. She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

Right, Pendragon, of course. “Not a lot of people can sneak up on me.”

Morgana smirked, “not a lot can guess what you are, either, I reckon?”

“What do you think I am?”

“A killer.” Morgana must have read his face -  _ fuck _ \- for she smiled sharp again. “I can see it in your eyes. You’ve looked death in the face. And it was not your own.”

Merlin should feel threatened but instead he felt relief that someone finally recognized him for the monster that he is. “What do you want?”

“I ask you again,” she raised her cigarette hand daintily, revealing the gun - safety off - lightly grasped in her other hand, resting casually on her lap. “Are you here to kill Arthur?”

“No.”

“I see.” The Yakuza ward gave nothing away as she took another drag of her cigarette. Merlin was torn between  _ uh, did you want me to?  _ or  _ I can prove it, somehow, I can swear? _ , before she spoke again. “I don’t need your word. You harm him, I will kill you.” She said, simple and straightforward.

He thought about the moment Arthur hovered over him, golden head haloed in the afternoon light, when there was no end to the running, and thought,  _ oh. That’s it. That’s what I was running to.  _ “I’ll give you the gun,” he responded evenly, and realized with a start he meant it. And he was only three days in. “I mean - if you didn’t already have it. Just - the principle of the thing.”

“No, I won’t make it easy.” she spoke as casually as if she was conversing about mundane things. “I will cut you, limb by limb, with your own knives.”

He gave that its due thought. “Okay,” he said, pulling the knives out from under his sleeves and placing them by the bedside table as a sign of acquiesce.

She looked at him, measuring his worth. Merlin wasn’t sure if he measured up, but he didn’t try to fool her. He is what he is. 

“Okay,” she said, uncrossing her legs and flicking the safety back on the gun.

She didn’t quite smile at him, but there was something less dangerous about her expression when she turned to leave. She even did him the courtesy of locking his door for him.

_ ‘Morgana doesn’t easily make friends’ _ , Arthur said to him once with a curious look.  _ ‘She’ll trade barbs with anyone, but she’s calculating when it comes to those she keeps within her circle.’  _ He didn’t say anything more, just let the comment lie. But Merlin knew what he was thinking: somehow in such a short time, Merlin was in Morgana’s circle. Merlin never told him what he conceded that night - that within days of their acquaintance, he vowed to gladly forfeit his life if he saw Arthur come to harm by his own hands. And Morgana will hold him accountable to it.

####  **_Merlin at age 20_ **

They were raiding some warehouses in Mercia, that was all Merlin knew, but he should have expected this. Bayard was rich and never used his own men.

“ _ Little Wolf _ .” The man breathed, a name that shocked Merlin into stillness for a split second. A name that he hadn’t heard in two years. With a level of reverence, the Catha-trained tugged his shirt up to the rising sun symbol of the Catha tattooed on his rib. “I will bring you to the Master.”

“No.” Merlin said simply. 

The Catha looked at him with disappointment, and that was the only warning Merlin had before he was blocking the knife coming for his throat. Merlin jerked immediately, his own knife sliding down from his sleeve into a backwards grip in his right hand.

Arthur and three of his bodyguards burst into the room then - but they couldn’t have done anything, with the Catha bodily checking Merlin into their line of fire. 

While his right wrist pushed against the blade tip scant millimetres from his neck, Merlin used his left to grab the assassin's other forearm, halting the second blade’s trajectory and kicked out the other man’s knee in one move. The man collapsed to one side with a sickening crack. Merlin pulled back, leaning his targeted throat just out of the reach of the blade - just long enough to turn his wrist and embed the knife in his right hand in the perfect center between the Catha's eyes. Just for insurance, because he always confirms, he gave the embedded blade an additional shove.

It was over in a split second.

The room fell into silence, and Merlin braced himself - God, Arthur had  _ seen _ that side of him. But suits moved into his periphery, and they were already pacing forward to clear the rest of the room without a second glance at the dead body.

“Holy hell. You’re a little scary sometimes, you know that?” Kay passed by him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

Merlin bent down to yank out the blade. After a moment, he straightened, letting his arms hang loose as he stared down at the blood pooling behind the man’s head and listened to the  _ drip drip drip _ of the knife in his right hand. 

After a while - they must have cleared the rest of the warehouse - Arthur bodily tugged him away, taking the knife from his loosened grasp and wiping the last of the blood away. He didn’t say anything until they were in the car and halfway through Camelot’s streets. By that time, Merlin was staring out the window.

“It was you or him, Merlin.”

_ When does that stop being the excuse?  _ Merlin didn’t respond.

It wasn’t until later, when they were alone, Arthur lingered, like he lingered all afternoon, and said, finally, “I’m glad it was you.”

_ Don't, _ Merlin didn’t say.  _ I'm just a cold-blooded killer. _

+

“There’s things in this world you don’t understand.” Merlin said once, when there was no one else but Arthur and him and a bottle of really good Scotch. It loosened his lips, he’ll excuse himself later, but he knew no amount of alcohol could loosen his lips - not with the kind of training he had.

“Like you?” Arthur chuckled, but it faded when Merlin didn’t laugh with him. “Okay, what is it?”

“Nothing,” Merlin sighed finally, “Arthur, it’s nothing.”

“Are you thinking about the White Dragon?”

“No,”  _ yes. _

“You’re a maudlin drunk, Merlin, bloody hell.”

####  **_Merlin at age 22_ **

“Who is the white dragon?” Merlin growled, a small knife gripped in his fist with the sharp end pointed at the man’s jugular. 

The man laughed throatily.

Merlin gritted his teeth, then drew an almost intimate line from the man’s collar bones, up over his bobbing Adam's apple - riding its movement like a wave - to his jaw. “Do not test me.”

"The - the white Dragon - it - it's - Emrys - it's Emrys. Emrys is alive - they say Emrys is alive!” The man choked out, finally. Hell, Merlin almost thought he had to cut off fingers. 

“I see.” Merlin pulled back the knife tip, and the man exhaled heavily.

With a deft flick of his wrist, Merlin flipped the knife back so the blade was parallel to his wrist and jerked sharply. A clean red line sliced across the man’s neck. He gurgled halfway through his sigh of relief, then slid to the ground slowly. Stepping back, the Yakuza killer shook a black handkerchief free from his trouser pocket to clean his small knife and the blood splatter on his forearm with efficient swipes. He tucked the handkerchief away, unrolled his cuffs and picked up his suit jacket from a nearby chair.

Merlin walked out the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him.

Morgana was waiting in the corridor, smoking as always. She may have spent her life behind a desk, but she was no stranger to violence. If Merlin was honest with himself, she may be taking it better than him.

“He says it's me.”

“Hm, that's three for one,” She answered, as if she were stating tennis scores - not how many believe Arthur is the White Dragon versus Merlin. She fell into step with him, “which Family?”

“Gorlois.”

“Some relatives of Le Fay, I read.” 

Merlin sent her a sharp glance, “Uther’s?”

“Meticulous notes.” Her heels clicked sharply in the apartment lobby as she pulled her tilted her hat against the security camera. Merlin turned his head, not that it matters. Not that anyone watching wasn’t going to know exactly who would be traveling around with a suit. “Disgusting too. The Gorlois Family was led by women.  _ Daddy dear _ wanted to fuck her. There were love letters.”

A picture of Uther - balding, middle aged Uther that he saw just last night - trying to hit it up with the blonde young woman in the surveillance pictures of the hiding Gorlois clan popped into his mind. “That. is. disgusting. Ugh, I’ve got a mental image.”

“Imagine reading it.” 

"Does he really not carry them everywhere? He's paranoid enough." 

"He does," Morgana smirked, "I'm just exceptionally sneaky. I've made copies." What Morgana really is, is exceptionally scary. When they were in the alleyway behind, Morgana turned to him faux-casually. “Home?”

“I -” breathe, Merlin,  _ fuck _ . “-...can’t.”

“You did well, Mer-”

“Don’t.” He was going to regret snapping her later. "Just, don't."

Morgana raised her palms in a placating gesture, but didn’t apologise. She really is taking it better than him. But then, she’s not the executioner. “Two hours?”

“Two hours.”

+

"It's a code." Gwen gasped, sitting up suddenly as both Morgana and Merlin turned to her simultaneously. "The love letters!"

"Ugh, hell," Morgana rolled her eyes with feeling, "are you telling me we're needing to parse that disgusting thing?"

Later that night, Merlin almost kissed Gwen for her brilliance, if he wasn't so busy reeling with information. Possibilities. Questions, so many questions. Merlin had left to go run some errands, Yakuza style, and make an appearance so Arthur doesn't get suspicious, but they had it figured out by the time he was back. 

"The prophecy." Morgana stated, handing him a slip of paper overrun with scribbles. But a stanza was clearly written in the center. "There's a prophecy."

_ A...what _ ?

Merlin felt their eyes weigh heavily on him as he read. He oscillated between  _ this is ridiculous,  _ and  _ good god, Uther is diabolical _ . Finally, he said, "That doesn't mean what I think it means."

"I think it's pretty literal."

"Literal." His brain was spinning in shock. Fear. Wonder. Denial. Mostly denial. "This is - nice poetry - Uther killed for - for this?"

"It's not. You know it's not just words." Morgana's eyes locked with Merlin and all of his own emotions were reflecting back at him. "It's my dreams."

"Should we start a dream journal?" Gwen said absently, reorganizing the papers now as they were scattered and messed up in the decryption process. 

No one answered her and Morgana tracked the expressions across Merlin's face as he read and reread and reread and committed the words to memory. "I think I have more questions than I did before - "

"Me too "

"Me three," Gwen said, knocking the stack against the table.

Morgana was still looking at Merlin.

"Wait...you're not..." Merlin said, even before she put voice to the idea he knew brewing in her mind, "Arthur - Arthur's not going to be happy -"

"I have to." And Morgana was serious enough to have set her cigarette down, tipping it into her ashtray. "The Gorlois family would know. They may be right."

"No - we can’t know if - I don’t -" He waved incomprehensibly. Morgana snatched the prophecy out of his hand and flicked her lighter open, setting the flame against the edge of the paper. Merlin scrubbed a hand through his hair, nearly pulling it out in its wake. "Morgana."

Something in his tone of voice - the alarm, the resignation? - stilled Gwen. "What?" Her hands hovering over the neat stack she created, eyes flickering between the two of them sharply then settling on Morgana, "What's he on about?"

Morgana was still looking at Merlin, barely acknowledging the slowly burning slip of paper on the tips of her fingers as she let the ashes fall into her ashtray.

_ She's right,  _ the Voice said,  _ just let her go. She's right. _

"Take Gwen, please," Merlin insisted, because he couldn't deny it. Morgana was always right. "Fuck." He sat down.

_ All in good time _ , the Voice in his head said, sighing happily.

+

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, announcing his presence with his voice. He could recognize those broad shoulders anywhere, even if it was completely dark except for a single reading light. “What are you doing?”

“My father’s gibberish,” Arthur answered absently, waving him over anyway.

Merlin peered over his shoulder, and tried not to flinch at the familiar notebook that he’d seen so many times tucked into Morgana’s coats. “Mm?” He asked, realizing he’d been quiet for too long, while his heart beat fast and loud.

“Says here something about a jade scroll, at the top of a bloody mountain.”

“Mm.”  _ Fuck what do I say what do I do  _ \- “Should we find it?”

“What?” Arthur turned to give him an incredulous look, “what - you want to go get it?”

“I don’t know,” the words tumbled out of Merlin’s mouth without his permission, “to see if it’s real, I guess.”

####  **_Merlin at age 24_ **

One year ago, when Morgana sent her first postcard to Arthur - who had to sit down when he read it, who spent nearly ten minutes staring at it, even if it was only four words - Lancelot slipped another into Merlin's hand. 

He never said anything, but he must've suspected Merlin knew more than he let on about Morgana leaving the Pendragons. And why.

To be fair, Merlin never said anything to Lancelot either about pretending that they came in the post.

The postcard for Merlin was just as terse. _Keep him safe._ _I'm close._

It was a warning and a confirmation. The White Dragon could be any true Heir of the Yakuza bloodline, one of the old Families. She went to find out who exactly.

_ Keep him safe _ , it read, which really meant, the White Dragon  _ is _ one of them, Arthur or Merlin, like they suspected. Or, she was simply telling him to keep Arthur safe, but she was never that sentimental even in person.

_ I'm close _ really meant that it was coming. The prophecy was coming and Merlin braced himself. He reached deep inside, to the Voice, who said,  _ yes, I feel it. I feel chaos, darkness, destruction. It will come, you cannot stop it. _

So he waited.

One year later, Merlin felt shame wash down his spine as he watched Arthur nearly kill himself over Albion City tearing itself apart, Annis going underground, and even Lot Family almost entirely slaughtered. 

After the second postcard, Lance broke his silence. 

"Merlin," Lance grasped his arm urgently, "you know."

"I-" 

"Don't do nothing, not this time. Whatever  _ they _ ," Morgana and Gwen, his eyes said, "told you, please. Look at Arthur. We're not safe. No one's safe."

"I know." Merlin sighed, pulling his arm out of Lance's grasp and sliding down the nearest wall to tuck his knees against his chest.

"What did Morgana say?"

It wasn't that Merlin didn't want to tell him, he just didn't know how to answer. He didn't know how to describe years of secrets and deaths and...all the things that he and Morgana did. 

"At least -" Lance was loyal and too trusting, and Merlin didn't deserve his friendship. "At least, tell me you have a plan."

Not really. Except, Merlin looked at the postcard Morgana sent for him, yes, sort of, Morgana gave him a sketch of one of her dreams. "If the  _ Kurai Kage  _ attacks the Estate," he told Lance finally. "We need a different escape strategy." 

Lance looked at him grimly, then nodded. Too trusting. Too loyal.

The next night, Lance had somehow got eight of Arthur's bodyguards, the unspoken inner circle, into a room without alerting Arthur. 

Leon, Lance, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Galahad, Geraint, and Kay all piled in, serious and not a hint of their earlier partaking of alcohol clinging to their movements.

"Arthur mustn't know." Merlin said, standing half hidden in the shadows, uncomfortable with the trust and confidence they had in him. They had all walked in, seen him, and immediately paid attention.

"Why?" It was Leon who asked, of course it was Leon, the ever logical one.

"He won't like it."

"I'm not sure I'll like it then," Lance mumbled warily.

After Merlin explained, leaving out the  _ everyone thinks Arthur is the White Dragon but it could be me, there's a prophecy and there's Dreams and Voices, and no we're not crazy,  _ part of the story. 

"Nope, I don't like it." Lance concluded, arms crossed. "There has to be another way."

"No, there isn't - I've -" Merlin swallowed, looking around the room and making eye contact. "Trust me."

"We do." 

And the confident assent around the room really shouldn't almost bring tears to Merlin's eyes -  _ you shouldn't _ , he wanted to say.  _ None of you know I'm an Emrys _ \- except Lance -  _ none of you know I'm Catha, and none of you have seen all of what I've done. How much blood is on my hands.  _

"And it's not because we don't," Elyan said, the gentle reasoning in his voice reminding Merlin painfully of Gwen, "and it's not because I know you're not telling us everything. It's just, Arthur won't cope well."

"No," Merlin agreed, and he thought painfully of that moment he knew Morgana was going to leave Arthur. He couldn't begrudge them their protest. To be honest, he was getting off lightly. "Take care of him."

"There has to be another way," Kay insisted, his wide shoulders scrunched and fists balled.

"You know Arthur," Leon stated thoughtfully, and Merlin was glad to hear the tone of defeat in his voice. "He'll want to stand and fight."

"He won't win," Merlin insisted, because that much was obvious in Morgana's message, "not this time, not this early.  _ Not yet _ ."

"But he will," the light tone of Galahad, true and just as loyal as Lance, "you're sure that he will in the end." A question that turned into a statement of assurance by the time he was finished speaking.

"He'll go to Morgana afterwards," Geraint thought aloud, "she must've given him a way in Arthur's postcard."

"And Nemeth is a good place to hide," Elyan too was starting to see the reasoning, "the furthest from the shadow, too many buildings and complexes, almost a labyrinth."

Even Percival, man of little words, was nodding.

Gwaine watched all this, silent and serious and considering. His usual grins and laughter was replaced with a dark shadow and a rare sharpness in his brown eyes. Merlin breathed in deep, knowing he was the hardest to convince, and looked him in the eyes. 

"You'll come back to us," Gwaine said finally. 

"Yes," Merlin sighed; he'll try, of course he'll try.

"Swear it."

"Gwaine-"

"Swear it." Gwaine leaned forward, intent, knowing Merlin and the things he didn't say all too well, "swear you'll come back to us. You'll run, as soon as you realize you can't survive. You'll come back to us  _ alive _ . You'll expect of yourself the same you expect of Arthur. No self-sacrificing BULLSHIT." And he was standing now, shouting into the silence of the room, " _ Swear it, Merlin _ ."

One breath. Two breaths. 

Eight pairs of eyes were looking at Merlin expectantly.

Inhale. Exhale.  _ I don't deserve this, I don't deserve _ -

"Swear it," Lance said too, quiet and earnest, "please."

Merlin looked around the room again, nearly suffocating at the weight of their expectation, and loyalty, and  _ trust _ . 

"I swear-"

"Swear it on Arthur's life."

"Fuck's sake, Gwaine." 

"Do it."

Merlin took a deep breath. "I swear. I swear on Arthur's life, I will come back, I will do everything to come back alive."

"Okay." Gwaine sat down, "okay."

+

The Kurai Kage had poison arrows. So it should not be a surprise they had poison knives. 

When the Pendragon suits had disappeared through the hole in the wall, when they had disappeared down the street - taking a protesting Arthur with them - the black-clad body that Merlin so easily killed with a twist of his elbows stood back up. His neck hung at a gruesome angle, but he  _ stood back up _ .

Morgana had said (ish, he's paraphrasing) in her postcard, but Merlin was not prepared for the ‘they’re not mortal’ part until he saw it with his own eyes. His internal clock said five minutes. He had five minutes to spare between each - what was it, immortality? resurrection? - revival.

The rest of the Pendragon staff, the ones left behind, were picked off easily. What can you do against an enemy that couldn't die? 

And Merlin - Merlin was pushed out into the street, the Pendragon Estate collapsing into ruin behind him. But he was slowing the Kurai Kage down by using their poison weapons against them. He didn’t know what was in the glowing green poison - they really should’ve made an antidote after all - but it was keeping the black-clad enemy down for more than five minutes at the very least.

Merlin knew that he was their best chance, the last line of defense - because he was Catha trained, because Morgana said he would survive the fight, because somehow he survived the poison once before.

But now,  _ ages _ or a split second later, Merlin had shallow cuts all over his body, red tinged with a glowing green, he wasn't sure how he did it. How he  _ can _ do it, no matter what Morgana said. He was collapsing, he knew even before his knee touched the ground, and the shadow men cocked their heads at him, confused at his long survival. 

Merlin thought of the mountain, when he fell to Arthur's panicked shout, when he only barely remembered the feeling of the earth rumbling and wind whipping.  _ I swore _ , he thought, as he blinked heavily and the shadows crept closer,  _ Morgana said I'd make it _ , he dug inside for the Voice,  _ help me. _

Suddenly. Suddenly -

Despair and loss and Arthur's voice -  _ MERLIN! _ \- like that day on the mountain - tore through him. 

Merlin was being split apart, on his knees, both hands on the ground. Was the ground shaking or was he?

Something else, too, rode that wave. And the Voice responded. 

The Voice roared.


End file.
